While I was eating my lunch a violent rainstorm—by leaning up close to the trunk of an oak, I manage to keep fairly dry. Beautiful effects of the rain in the canyon—the drops appearing not as streaks (the usual impression of rain) but as individual drops, like hail or snow (I first noticed this effect several days ago, standing in the door of the shed, watching a shower at sundown. Holding a paper to blot out the sun. I saw the raindrops over Miller’s yards, in the same fashion; —drops of pure gold.) The trunk of the oak was warm and gave off a spicy odor, and it was pleasant to press up close to it—I thought of lightning striking the tree, but once the thought came to me, that if He elected to take me now I was ready to go, and only pressed closer, feeling perfectly safe.
Charles Burchfield, July 28, 1944